The Blade of Shattered Hope 1r-3

by James Dashner

  She snatched it out of his hands with a quickly murmured thank you and read it:

  Sofia, we’ll be there straightaway to pick you up. Within the hour. It’s most urgent!

  MG

  Unable to hide a grin, and now thrilled that her parents were leaving, she ran from the kitchen without another word to Frupey so she could pack a few things for her trip.

  Master George came alone.

  Sofia had been standing on the large brick porch for thirty minutes, the strap of her bag digging into her shoulder, staring down the long paved drive, waiting anxiously. When she spotted the old man shuffling along with an almost comical, hurried gait, she sprinted out to meet him.

  “Why didn’t you just have me go to the usual cemetery?” she asked when she reached his side.

  Master George stopped walking, bent over and put his hands on his knees to catch a few deep breaths.

  “I don’t mean to wink you back to headquarters for now,” he finally responded. “Believe it or not, I’ve left Sally in charge of the Barrier Wands back at headquarters. I came to pick you up personally so we could travel together to our next location.”

  “Which is?” Sofia urged. She could hardly stand the anticipation; the desire to get away from her large and dreary house was almost overwhelming.

  Master George stood straight again, fixing his gaze on her. His ruddy face framed eyes full of concern. “Sofia, I don’t quite know how to say it. We’ve received an… invitation. A very odd one, at that.”

  “Really? From who? For what?”

  “Let’s just say it frightens me greatly. Come on. We need to make our way back to the cemetery so we can wink to Florida and pick up Paul. I’ll explain along the way.” He turned and started down the drive.

  Sofia, baffled but full of excitement, followed.

  Chapter 6

  Finger on the Pulse

  Tick suspected he’d probably think the whole incident hilarious a few years down the road. They’d killed two monstrous water creatures with a vacuum cleaner and a dozen toilet flushes. But that night, lying in his bed, all he could think about as he stared at the dark ceiling was how close it had been. What it was like to see his mom’s face behind that deadly mask of water and his dad’s big body thrash around on the floor. What it was like to see his parents-both of them-almost die.

  It hurt. It haunted. And he couldn’t get the images out of his mind. People always used the phrase “too close for comfort,” and after all he’d been through, and more than ever tonight, he understood what that meant on a very deep level. Especially when he considered how lucky they were Lisa and Kayla had gone away for the weekend. He knew there’d be no sleep for him tonight. Even if there were, it’d be full of nightmares.

  Sighing, he rolled over onto his side and looked at the closet. The door was shut. He hadn’t consciously thought about it before, but he was pretty sure that door had been closed every night since the Gnat Rat had shown up and attacked him. Compared to the things happening to him now, that incident almost seemed funny. Almost silly.

  Compared to his… problem.

  That was the word he’d started using when referring to whatever was wrong with him. Somehow, for some reason, he had a natural surplus-an extreme surplus-of Chi’karda, that quiet force that explains and controls the world of quantum physics and therefore everything in the universe. The fact that Mistress Jane had pulled it out of him, shown it to him, burned the visual in his mind forever, only made it more terrifying.

  He had enough Chi’karda inside him to power a Barrier Wand. He had enough to disintegrate a spaceship-sized weapon of metal. Enough to destroy one of the largest buildings in all of the Realities. He’d said it before, and he felt it now, for the millionth time.

  He was a freak. A dangerous, out-of-control freak.

  But then he felt the slightest glimmer of hope, almost like a visible light in his shadowed room of nighttime. In the garage, when he had started to lose control, he’d been able to pull back, make it stop. The more he thought about it, the better he felt.

  He’d stopped. He’d controlled the power. That was a huge thing. The realization hadn’t really hit him until now-he’d been too preoccupied with the aftermath of the attack by the water creatures-but the Chi’karda had almost exploded within him, and he’d made it go away!

  Tick sat up in bed, wrapping his arms around his knees. He had to tell Sofia and Paul. And Master George, of course. He looked over at the digital clock on his desk and read the time-just a few minutes before midnight. No way he could wait until morning.

  Swinging his legs off the bed, he stood up and headed for the computer downstairs.

  The house was dark and silent, the faint swooshing of the refrigerator the only sound. Tick knew his odds of making it downstairs without his dad hearing him were tiny, but he tried all the same, creeping along on his tiptoes, hitting all the quiet spots in the floor and on the stairs he’d scouted out long ago. If Dad did come down, surely he’d understand why Tick wanted so urgently to tell his friends about what had happened. And to make sure nothing had attacked them.

  Once in his e-mail program, and after feeling a little disappointed that he had no messages waiting for him, he created a new one for Paul and Sofia. He started typing.

  Hey guys,

  I don’t even know where to start. Crazy day. Horrible day. Worst day since that stuff in the Fourth. Guess I’ll just tell it how it went.

  It started while I was walking home from school after my normal visit with Mr. Chu. (Sofia, I know you hate him, but he’s not the same guy as Reginald. He was being controlled when he kidnapped us. Get over it!)

  Anyway, I got hit by this weird feeling, like a huge electrical charge, like some kind of invisible power, hitting me in waves. Then things got worse.

  Tick went on to tell them about the run home, finding his parents under attack by the water creatures, fighting the things, killing them with the vacuum. Flushing them down the toilet.

  He winced when he typed that part, already imagining the response from Sofia. It was like handing your enemy a thousand rounds of ammo so they could shoot you with more ease. And glee. She’d have a field day with that stuff.

  He paused for a moment, wishing he could make the fight sound tougher, scarier. Like it had been in real life. In an e-mail, it sounded completely stupid. Might as well write, Hey guys, you should’ve seen how I wielded that vacuum cleaner! I was invincible!

  Groaning, he continued typing.

  Well, it was a lot worse than it sounds. Trust me. I just wish I knew where they came from, what they were, and who sent them. And what those weird waves of power I felt were. Has anything happened to you guys? We better be extra careful, really be on the lookout.

  I think we should talk again on the Internet phone-thingy Sofia’s butler helped us all set up. Since tomorrow is Saturday, what about in the morning (for me)-9:00? Let me know.

  Tick

  Realitant First Class

  Tick always signed his e-mails that way, purely for one reason: it bugged the heck out of Sofia. He clicked send, then sat back and folded his arms, watching the screen as it confirmed the message had been sent on its way.

  His thoughts wandered. He saw his mom, encased in water, writhing on the floor. His dad’s face growing purple. Remembered the terror of those few moments in the garage, before they were safe. He felt as if his heart had turned to lead.

  What if it happened again? Almost certainly, it would. Something like it. Or worse.

  A yawn leaked out, almost surprising him, and he snapped out of his stupor. Stretching his arms high above his head, he stood up from the chair, then leaned forward to shut down the computer. Once finished, he turned to head up for bed, already dreading the dreams that might await him.

  Womp.

  Tick sucked in a breath, reaching out to grab the back of the desk chair. The burst of energy had swept across him, throwing off his balance. Once he was sure he was stable and could stand, he looked
around him, searching his surroundings. All he could see were shadows draped across more shadows, a faint light coming through the windows, another small glow from a nightlight down the hall. But the house was mostly dark, and everything seemed a great hiding spot for a monster ready to spring for him.

  Womp.

  Again. This time he realized how much smaller the energy wave was than those that had hit him earlier that afternoon on the road home from school. It had only been remembering that experience that sent terror pumping his heart when he’d felt the burst of energy this time. He calmed, just a little.

  Womp.

  Definitely smaller. Weaker. Whatever the word was. Barely there, almost a vibration. A sound that was not quite a sound.

  Womp.

  A pulse. That described it better than anything else. He was feeling a pulse of energy, sweeping through the air, through his skin, rattling his insides like a tuning fork. He could sense its source, just like he’d be able to tell from which direction he heard a radio or piano playing.

  Womp… womp… womp…

  Again and again.

  It was coming from the basement.

  Chapter 7

  Beneath

  Tick’s racing heart eased when he realized the pulse was far less powerful this time, felt less dangerous. But having it come from the basement-the unfinished, cement-floored, dark and cold basement? That was way worse than a closet.

  He had to investigate. He had no choice on the matter. He was a Realitant, and he’d brought this danger-if it was a danger, and it didn’t take a genius to jump to that conclusion-to his family, to his home. Responsibility for that hung like a huge sack of rocks, draped with ropes across his back. Despite what he’d experienced so far with the mysterious power within him, despite what he’d done to Chu’s palace and the weapon called Dark Infinity, despite what he’d done to He cut off the thought. The point was, he didn’t feel powerful. Not in the least. Having a gun does you no good if it’s missing the trigger.

  Womp… womp… womp…

  But none of that mattered. Something weird pulsed in his basement, and he was going down there to figure out what.

  He realized his hands were clasped tightly into fists. If he’d had long nails, his palms would be bleeding like geysers. He forced himself to relax, flexing his fingers and taking several deep breaths. Then he headed out of the room, down the hall, toward the door to the basement.

  He hesitated in front of it, as though the black shadows of the hallway clung to him like a gluey mass. He stared at the knob, a stub of gold that was the only spot of color in the darkness. The throbs of the unseen force continued, a small vibration in his skull.

  He opened the door and stepped through it onto the landing of the stairway that led below. If he’d thought it had been dark before, the bottom of the stairs was a lightless abyss. He fumbled for the switch, found it and turned on the light, banishing the shadows. Before him lay the wooden staircase, surrounded with bare white walls with a cement floor at the bottom. He couldn’t see anything else yet.

  Womp… womp… womp…

  The pulse strengthened slightly, calling to him from the basement. He had the sudden and terrifying thought that maybe he’d been hypnotized, that he was acting irrationally. He stopped before taking the first step. Was he nuts for even thinking about going down there? The first time he’d felt this energy pulse, something terrible had happened.

  But he had to do it. He had to. He wondered if he should get his dad, but pushed the thought away. The hairs of his arms standing on end, he started down the stairs. Even treading lightly, each footfall still made a deadened thump. He wished the steps had carpet. He descended further, running his right hand along the wall, making a soft scraping sound, almost a swish.

  Womp… womp… womp…

  He reached the bottom, then darted toward the long string that fell from the ceiling, attached to a single light bulb. He pulled the string, waiting in dread to see what the light would reveal. When the bulb clicked on and the room brightened, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The single room in the half-basement was maybe twenty feet wide, and Tick couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  The room was cluttered with boxes, bags, plastic tubs full of old clothes, a horizontal pole holding up dusty coats on hangers, a rack of shoes which hadn’t been worn in years, a pile of Christmas decorations that hadn’t quite been put away yet. He wondered if his mom even knew her wonderful and faithful husband had neglected that duty for months now.

  But the pulsing continued, stronger now, though nothing like what he’d felt on the street. Still, it was powerful enough that the energy surrounded him, throbbing, and he couldn’t tell from which direction it came.

  Womp… womp… womp…

  He slowly turned in a circle, scanning every inch of the room with his eyes. Boxes, tubs, junk. Nothing else.

  The pulse stopped. Cut off.

  It didn’t slow, didn’t fade. It stopped, abruptly. A powerful silence filled the air. Tick’s skin tingled, as if it had grown used to the almost comforting vibrations of the energy waves and wanted them back. He heard his own breathing as he continued to turn, and for some reason that creeped him out. He felt stuck in one of those nightmares where you know you’re dreaming, but you can’t wake up.

  His instincts came to life, telling him to get out of there. He “Atticus. Higginbottom.”

  Tick turned sharply toward the sound, stumbling backward until he hit the stairs. His knees buckled, and he sat down on the third step. He sucked in a breath, feeling as if something had been shoved down his throat, clogging it. The barely female voice that had spoken his name had been monstrous. Dry. Raspy. Painful. As if every syllable sent waves of flame through its owner’s body. And it was slightly.. muffled.

  He couldn’t see anyone in the basement. He swept his head back and forth but saw nothing. No one. His hands gripped the lip of the step beneath his legs.

  “Two words,” said the horrible voice. “A name. How different my life would be if I’d never heard them uttered.”

  Tick concentrated on a certain spot, a dark shadow behind a pile of boxes he hadn’t noticed before. Probably another project his dad should have organized and put away months ago. But there was enough room back there for someone to stand. To hide.

  “Who’s there?” Tick asked, relieved his voice came out with no cracks. Relieved he could talk at all.

  “An old friend,” came the reply, the harsh voice softening to a bare whisper, like the crackling of dead leaves in the distance. “Someone who wanted to be your friend.”

  Tick knew his mouth was open. He knew his eyes were wide, full of terror. Every inch of him screamed that he should run. He should book it up the stairs and yell for his parents to call the police.

  It was her. It was her.

  He couldn’t move his eyes away from the tall length of shadow. Something moved in the darkness. A human figure formed, then stepped into the light. A robe of dull yellow covered every inch of her body, the hood pulled up and over her head, almost hiding the face.

  Except there was no face. At least, not a human face. The figure wore a red mask of metal, its features pulled into a smile that somehow looked more frightening than a scowl of anger.

  “Mistress Jane,” Tick whispered, his senses having turned numb. He knew it was her before she nodded ever so slightly to confirm what he’d said. So he hadn’t killed her after all.

  But that mask. And her voice. What had he done to her?

  He waited for her to speak, to explain why she’d come. But she only stood there, completely still, her hands hidden within the folds of her robe. The red mask was impossibly shiny, almost as if it were molten metal. Liquid. Wet.

  One of the eyebrows twitched, moving half an inch up then back down again. As he stared, the smile on the mask slowly melted into a frown, into a grimace. The eyebrows slanted with unspoken rage.

  How did she do that? Tick could feel blood rushing in his temples, in hi
s neck. What was she going to do to him?

  Still, she said nothing. She didn’t move.

  Tick couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Jane… Mistress Jane

  …” He was stuttering, searching for words. If his hands hadn’t been firmly holding onto the stair beneath him, they’d have been trembling uncontrollably. “I promise I didn’t mean to do whatever I did to you. I lost control-I don’t even know what I lost control of. My mind wasn’t working right. I don’t know what happened.”

  He paused, hoping for a change on that mask. If anything, it looked angrier.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued. “I could tell by the way you

  … screamed, that, um…” He looked down at the floor. “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  When he lifted his eyes again, he almost cried out. She was three steps closer to him, the mask as scary as ever, the rage evident on the sparkling, deep red surface.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, barely getting it out.

  “Stop talking,” Jane said, her raspy voice muffled but strong, creating a dry whisper of an echo in the room. “Don’t say another word until I give you permission. Do you understand?”

  “Ye-” Tick stopped himself. He nodded.

  Mistress Jane stood still, her robe unruffled. She reminded Tick of a statue. A very angry statue with a red face. “I don’t want to hear your apologies. Your excuses. Don’t insult my pain by refusing to take responsibility for your actions. You know the nature of Chi’karda. You know the nature of your heart. You did this to me by your own choice. It couldn’t have happened against your will. Your conscious… current… evident will.” She spat out the last few syllables.

  Tick felt awful. It wasn’t so much the words she’d used. He felt the meaning of them more in the tone of her voice. Worse, he felt the truth of it. Shame and guilt blossomed like diseased flowers in his lungs, making it hard to breathe.